


ain't no sunshine

by fearlesslyme



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Quill, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-GOTG Vol. 1, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearlesslyme/pseuds/fearlesslyme
Summary: The thing about space is that earth years mean jack shit to most species.Unfortunately, Peter isn’t most species, he’s Terran, which means not only is he physically unimpressive, but he also remembers when the exact 28th anniversary of his mother’s death is.And it’s today.(Set in between Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, no Vol. 2 spoilers)





	ain't no sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Peter/Gamora if you squint but can also be read as gen.

The thing about space is that earth years mean jack shit to most species.

Unfortunately, Peter isn’t most species, he’s Terran, which means not only is he physically unimpressive, but he also remembers when the exact 28th anniversary of his mother’s death is.

And it’s today.

Most years, he curls up in his bed with his Walkman and tries to drown out the pangs of his own grief. Even the meanest Ravagers gave him this one respite every year and left him alone. There was no teasing, no threats about being eaten, and it was not mentioned after the fact. Later, when he got his own ship, it was even less of a problem. If he didn’t want to do anything but listen to Terran music, he didn’t have to.

This year, though. This year he has a crew. A ragtag one, but still, he’s somehow their appointed leader and they’re counting on him. Money is running low (as it turns out, earning money without breaking laws is actually a lot harder than the alternative) and there was no time for a vacation.

Besides, Drax’s entire family was slaughtered. Gamora’s parents were too and herself, enslaved. Groot is the last of his kind and Rocket has never had a family in the first place. He has it good, _real_ good, compared to the lot of them so if they don’t do it then why does he have the right to take a day off just to wallow pathetically in his own self-pity?

Peter sighs and rubs his eyes. It’s past midnight and into the next morning, and he’s been up all night trying to plan for this next job. He took the easiest that they could get, knowing what the date was, but it’s still by no means easy. In fact, it’s actually extremely difficult. But that’s not exactly his fault.

The job description read, “Artifact retrieval, security low to none” on some small planet on the edge of the galaxy. Sounded easy enough, but it was when Peter got to talking with the guy that he realized exactly what he got himself into.

“So… security low to none? What are we talking here, a few easily disabled alarms and security guards?”

“Well yeah,” the bastard of a Kree said, wringing his hands. “And, a small army.”

Peter blinked. “Sorry, a _what_?”

“A small army.”

Peter facepalmed, sensing a headache coming on. “A d’ast _army_ does not count as low to none security!” he growled, glaring at the Kree, who doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

“It’s just a small one! I thought you Guardians could take care of it no problem!”

“It doesn’t matter if we can take care of it or not you can’t just list it as _low to none security when there’s an entire army!_ ”

Needless to say, he tried to back out, but then the Kree threatened to sic a small army on _them_ which, really, would be the same amount of trouble except they wouldn’t be getting the money. So there’s a complicated plan, 100% of one for once, and it’s vital that they all follow it to the dot.

In other words, it’s a recipe for disaster. But it’s all he’s got.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Forget it, he’s turning in for the night. He’s not going to come up with anything better anyway. All he can do is pray that the rest of the team will be semi-cooperative come morning.

 

* * *

 

 

Cooperative is the last thing that they are.

“Rocket, are you even _trying_ to listen to me?”

Rocket bristles. “Excuse you, Quill, but this is the fifth time you have gone over this plan. I’m not a d’ast idiot. Unlike the rest of you, my brain is actually capable of absorbing things after the first four times!”

“Unlike the rest…?” Drax growls. “I am more than capable of remembering things also!”

“Really, Drax? Because I’m recalling this one time where-”

“Okay, okay, STOP!” Peter yells, rubbing his forehead as his headache starts to blossom behind it again. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure that the previous headache had never actually faded. “I’m telling you five times because it is _extremely important_ that we all do exactly as the plan says or else we face risk of imminent death.”

“What happened to Mr. 12%? I know I complained about him but I actually liked him better.”

Gamora nods in agreement, as does Drax. “I am Groot,” says a tiny Groot from his flower pot, smiling sweetly up at Peter. Peter pastes an artificial smile on his face back.

“Groot also agrees with me,” Rocket adds.

Peter scowls.

“Listen,” Gamora says. “I know you’re just being careful, but you need to trust us, Peter. As Rocket says, we’re not idiots. We know the plan. We will follow the plan. If we don’t we’ll accept full responsibility for it, but as we’ve told you four times now, we promise we _will_ follow the plan. Got it?”

Peter gets it, he just isn’t sure they get _him_. Because every time they screw up, every time someone gets hurt, every time they fail a mission, it’s all on him. He’s the leader, which means he’s responsible for every detail of the plan. And they can’t afford to screw up now. Not when money is tight and not when there’s a tiny baby sapling dependent on them and not when Peter’s never tried harder at anything in his life than just to keep this band of misfits together.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he says. Rocket mutters something like _finally!_ as they all start to depart to their respective rooms.

Because, the thing is, it’s not that he’s ridiculously attached to the four of them or anything. In fact, Rocket’s always irritable, Drax is violent, Gamora is – no wait, he actually really likes Gamora but it seems the feeling isn’t mutual anyway and Groot, well he loves Groot but Groot and Rocket are a package deal. No, the reason he so desperately wants to keep them together is because finally, for once in his life, he has a chance to do some good. All his life he’s been getting into to trouble and just barely managing to squirm his way out of it but his mom expected better of him, even at the age of eight. She knew that he could do good and she always had faith in him, even when he was constantly in trouble at school.

She’d be so disappointed to see him now.

The thought makes his chest feel tight.

“Peter?” Gamora asks, pausing her return to her room. Her eyes meet his. “Are you alright?”

With a herculean effort, Peter shoves his face into his trademark grin. “Yup,” he says. “Just peachy.”

Gamora doesn’t seem entirely convinced but she closes her door.

Peter rubs his forehead again, where the headache still lies. Sighing, he goes to get ready for the job.

 

* * *

 

 

“Rocket!” Peter yells over the comms. “That’s your cue!”

At the sound, Rocket stops shooting at the swarm of soldiers and takes off towards the maze of scaffolding that leads up to the balcony. Peter cleans off a couple more Kree soldiers and then dashes off after him.

The plan, condensed, works something like this. Plan A: Disable the alarms, then sneak into the fortress which the artifact is in, nab the artifact and get out before anyone notices. This one was the simplest, which meant of course, that it was never going to work. Plan B was: disable the alarms, sneak in, meet a few of the guards that are there, knock them out silently so that they couldn’t alert the other guards or the small army, nab the artifact, and get out. Peter was praying that they’d get to use Plan B, but naturally, the guards got the word out before they could take down all of them. He was beginning to think that the entire universe was against them.

So it was onto Plan C: fight a small army. Gamora and Drax would stay on the first floor, fending for themselves, while Rocket and Peter snuck up the scaffolding quickly to set off a distraction in the form of a bomb, and Peter would remain up there to fight off whatever soldiers were left. Then, presumably, while the soldiers on the ground floor still thought Rocket was on the balcony, he’d scamper back down and make off with the artifact.

So far, Plan C is actually going pretty well, Peter thinks to himself. The rest of the Guardians have kept their word and followed the plan to the T. He’s beginning to think that they can actually pull this off without a hitch, which is exactly when it all decides to go to shit.

They’ve scampered half way up the scaffolding when Peter suddenly loses his grip. There’s a moment of heart-stopping uncertainty as he’s sure he’s going to crash into the ground but he manages to catch himself by one hand. Rocket clambers down the scaffolding as quickly as he can, reaching out to him.

“Quill!” Rocket yells over all the commotion, reaching out a single paw to pull him up. “Quill, take my hand!”

And suddenly there’s no battle, no small army (nor army of any size for that matter), no teammates, no aliens; suddenly, it’s just him and his mom in a quiet hospital room and she’s dying and there’s nothing, nothing in the world that Peter can do to stop it.

Her hair is gone, she’s rail thin, skin almost translucent and dark bags under her eyes. She looks awful but she’s also the sweetest sight he’s ever seen.

“Peter,” she rasps with a southern drawl, “Take my hand.”

He knows how this part goes but he wants to shriek with anguish anyway when, unbidden, he turns away from her. He doesn’t take her hand.

The heart monitor flatlines. The beeping noise fills his ears and it’s all he can hear and she’s all he can see and…

“PETER!” all three other team members shout at him through the comms at once.

Peter jerks his head up as if emerging from deep water, breath panting and arms shaking. Rocket’s still in front of him with his paw outstretched, looking confused and also at the end of his rope. Dazed, Peter looks around. Where’s his mom? Where’d she go?

“Hello, earth to Quill, take my hand!” Rocket snarls from above him. “Unless you’ve forgotten that meticulous plan you thought out for us and repeated to us _five times in one morning!_?”

Right, the plan. Peter shakes his head and reaches his hand up when all of a sudden the bomb in Rocket’s hand starts beeping. His eyes widen and so do Rocket’s. That’s the two second warning. There’s no way they’re going to get up in two seconds.

Before Peter even has time to think, Rocket’s bringing his arm up and the bomb goes flying and then–

There’s a blast and suddenly Peter’s spinning wildly, no sense of which way is up until the hard ground digs into the back of his ribcage and his head slams into the ground. He lands harshly, crying out with pain. His ears are ringing, but he can distantly hear his teammates yelling over the commlink.

His heart beats wildly in his chest. Holy fuck, the bomb. The bomb went off so close to them that he was blasted completely off of the scaffolding but Rocket was closer and shit, Rocket, Rocket must be…

He spins around wildly, looking for where he last saw Rocket only to see that Rocket’s still dangling from the scaffolding. His arm is bleeding but he’s very much not dead and _thank god._

“Quill, what the fuck?” Rocket screams hysterically over the comm link.

He hauls himself up with great effort, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head, and presses on the comm. “Okay, okay, okay,” he mutters trying to think. “Okay, change of plans! Rocket is fighting on the balcony, I’ll grab the artifact.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he hears Rocket say over the comm but there’s no time to argue with him, as Drax and Gamora are clearly tiring and close to being overwhelmed by Kree soldiers. He takes a deep breath and sprints to the artifact.

45 grueling minutes later, it’s done. They’ve finally got the artifact, and seem to have lost the other Kree soldiers, and they’re at the hatch of the Milano. With the adrenaline no longer coursing through his veins, Peter can finally feel the damage he’s actually taken. He’s like 99% sure he’s got a concussion, and 85% sure that he’s got broken ribs. The headache from before combined with the concussion are making his head throb with each step he takes, and when a particularly painful throb comes he stumbles over his feet and almost goes down.

Gamora barely manages to catch him before he completely loses his balance. “Are you okay?” she asks, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Peter waves her off, regaining his balance and continuing towards the Milano. “You should check on Rocket, he was closer to the explosion than I was.”

 _Throb,_ his head pulses with pain again. He squeezes his eyes shut and ignores it.

They enter the Milano to see that Drax has already gotten that particular bit covered. He’s pulled out the med kit and has started cleaning out the large gash on Rocket’s arm. Rocket hisses with pain and baby Groot leans over, crooning, “I am Groot?” with concern.

_Throb._

“You wanna know what happened, Groot? I’ll tell you what happened. So this asshole right over here…”

 _Throb._ Peter doesn’t have to look over to know that Rocket’s pointing at him.

“...despite telling us that he’s got 100% of a plan, despite going over said plan no less than _five times_ , despite yelling at us that we were going to die if we didn’t exactly follow his precious little plan…”

_Throb._

“...didn’t even listen to his own d’ast plan. Can you believe it?”

_Throb._

“And this morning, he was harping on about _us_ ! Ha! So so worried that we weren’t going to follow the perfect little plan because it’s _always_ gotta be _his fucking way_ when he’s the one who can’t even follow simple instructions!”

_Throb._

“I am groot?” Groot peers up at Peter, no doubt looking for confirmation on Rocket’s story. Peter doesn’t say anything; can’t, really.

_Throb._

“I, too, would like to know, Quill, why exactly it is that you did not follow your own plan,” Drax says, finishing up bandaging Rocket's arm. Unlike Rocket there are no insults in his words but the tightly controlled anger behind them is enough to let Peter know everything that he has to. “It was a dangerous and unwise decision and left Rocket injured.”

_Throb._

“Me too,” adds Gamora, from her place at his side when they entered the Milano. All four of them are looking – in Rocket’s case, glaring actually – at Peter, demanding an answer.

He doesn’t have an answer for them. They’re right, it is his fault. It is all his fault.

 _Throb_.

He should apologize, for sure. Probably make up some explanation for why he froze rather than admit that he embarrassingly reverted back to an eight year old. He should be doing a lot of things right now but his head is killing him, his chest is tight, his mother died 28 years ago to the day and he really just cannot deal with this right now. He blinks tears out of his eyes.

 _THROB._  

“Listen, I promise I’ll explain everything to you guys later but please right now can you just please give me some space, it’s been a really bad day for me,” Peter finally admits, scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to subtly wipe away the tears. He makes to move away to his room.

He is unprepared for what happens next.

“Yeah well it hasn’t exactly been super great day for me either,” Rocket comments with artificial levity, gesturing at his arm wound. Peter stops in his tracks. “You know, my ideal day doesn’t exactly consist of nearly getting blown up and splitting half my arm open because a useless sack of shit can’t even follow his own plan.”

Drax opens his mouth and then closes it again. Gamora grimaces but says nothing.

“You’re not the only one with problems, Quill,” Rocket sneers his name, as if Quill were the most disgusting thing he could think of. “But maybe you would’ve noticed that already if you weren’t busy being a selfish brat and a failure of a leader.”

It’s simple, really. What he should do next is open his mouth and retort with a witty comeback. It’s what they do. It’s part of the program. Wake up, trade horrible insults with Rocket, kick ass, sleep, and repeat.

But this time, it’s all different somehow. It’s not just him and Rocket, this time all four of them are looking at him accusingly and this time it really is his fault and this time the words are true. All too true.

Instead of retorting, Peter’s face crumples. “Yeah,” he says, voice thick, “Yeah, you know what? You’re totally right.” He starts towards his bedroom door but stumbles as another particularly bad throb of pain strikes him. Gamora reaches out to steady him again but he leans away and catches himself on the door frame instead. She looks troubled.

“You’re totally right. I’m so sorry. I should’ve…” his voice is choked off on the last word. “This is all my fault,” his voice breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out before he shuts the door to his room.

 

* * *

 

 

He barely makes it into his room before another wave of pain crashes over him and this time he can’t catch himself in time and the ground comes up to meet him.

“Fuck,” he’s on his hands and knees, bringing up a shaky hand to wipe at his face. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

All Peter wants to do is crawl into his bed and sleep for ten days and forget about this entire thing. His bed is only a few meters away but it suddenly seems much too far for him to manage, and he can’t get Rocket’s words out of his head.

Having fucking flashbacks from 28 years ago in the middle of a battle? What kind of pathetic leader does that? He had always known that he was weaker than the others physically, but it was becoming quite apparent that he was weaker mentally too.

Who was he trying to fool? He couldn’t do this. Peter had no idea how he had thought for a second that he could actually lead a team. He never took anything seriously, he had no physical strengths to speak of and he was clearly an idiot too.

He’s shaking now, still on the ground on his hands and knees, head spinning far too much to even consider getting up. He thinks back to all their recent jobs, just how many close shaves they had in the past few months, how many times they had almost died, how many times _he_ had almost led them to death. And today, how he hesitated and how he could’ve killed Rocket; oh god, _he almost killed Rocket_.

His heart pounds against his wounded ribcage and sends everything spiraling into overdrive as tendrils of anxiety wrap their way around his chest. He’s breathing way too fast but it still feels like he can’t breathe and isn’t that just great? That on top of every other shitty thing that’s happened to him today he gets to have a panic attack as well?

He chokes back a scream of frustration and it just turns into a sob instead until he’s reduced to a hyperventilating, sobbing mess on the floor of the Milano. He’s pretty sure he’s never looked more pathetic in his life and the thought just makes him cry even more.

 _God_ , he hopes that they don’t see him like this.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am Groot!”

“You weren’t there, Groot, you don’t get it,” Rocket snaps. “Quill fucking messed up, okay? He messed up bad.”

“I am _Groot_!”

“No, I ain’t going in there and apologizing! It needed to be said! He was too busy worryin’ about himself all the time instead of acting like a leader…”

“ _I_ am Groot!” Groot wriggles out of the pot he’s in and lands, feet first, onto the ground.

“Hey, wait a minute, you’re not supposed to be out of your pot!” Groot scrambles towards Peter’s bedroom door. “Groot! No!”

Groot disappears into the room.

“Idiot,” Rocket mutters, shaking his head. He pulls himself up off the floor. “Alright, so what’s for dinner?”

No one says anything for a stilted second. Gamora clears her throat. “Don’t you think maybe that was a little, ah, harsh? Peter wasn’t… it’s not like he was trying to hurt you. He looked pretty crushed.”

Rocket shrugs, and hesitates. “He’ll probably just sulk for a bit and then be fine.” He _is_ starting to look a little guilty though, but it’s too late to take the words back now.

Just then, Groot comes running back out of Peter’s room. “I am Groot! I am Groot!” he yells, panting.

Alarmed, Gamora asks, “What is it, Groot?”

Groot grabs her finger and starts tugging her towards Peter’s room. Confused, she follows him, stopping at the door.

“Hey Peter,” she says, knocking on the doorframe. “Are you okay in there?”

When there’s no answer she opens the door anyway. Looking in, she freezes in shock.

Peter is hunched on the ground, hyperventilating and sobbing. She immediately crouches down beside him, only to frown when Peter groans and pulls away from her.

“Peter, what’s wrong?” she asks, unable to hide the concern in her voice. He just shakes his head and pulls away again.

“G-Go away,” he mutters shakily.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“P-Please just… go away,” he says again, voice wobbling. She gets the distinct impression that he’s begging her to.

Gamora refuses to budge. “Not a chance. Not until you tell us what’s wrong.”

“Why not?” he asks. “I’m selfish, st-stupid, arrogant, and one day you’re all probably going to get a clue and t-take off anyway–”

Gamora sits, speechless.

“I can’t... make plans... for shit. And I lead you all to danger, and today… I almost… k-killed... Rocket…”

He turns white, leans over, and heaves up everything he’s eaten in the last 24 hours.

“Oh, Peter…” she murmurs under her breath, sadly. When he’s done retching, she says, “Let’s get you off the ground,” and hauls him on to the bed, where he sits with his head buried in his hands.

“Rocket’s right,” he gasps in between sobs. “He’s right; I’m a miserable, pathetic, embarrassing excuse for a l-l-leader.”

Gamora opens her mouth to stop him when she spies Rocket frozen in the doorway. He looks stricken, ears ducked with guilt. “ _Shit_ , Peter,” he says, worried. “I- I didn’t know it’d affect you like this.”

“Rocket’s words have never affected you like this before,” Drax rumbles from the doorway where he’s just arrived. “What’s wrong now?”

“It, it’s not you,” Peter admits.

He takes a shaky breath.

“My m-mom,” his voice cracks and he tries to regain his composure. “Sh-she died 28 years ago today.”

He looks about ten different kinds of hell, tears still leaking from his eyes and shoulders shaking, and Gamora wraps an arm around him before she can stop herself.

“Peter,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“Why _would_ I?” he asks, looking down. “Y-you all have way more to worry about than that. H-Hell, Drax, your whole f-f-family was murdered! What right do I have to be–”

“Peter,” Drax rumbles, walking towards him and resting a giant hand on his shoulder, “You have every right to grieve. Just because others have also suffered does not mean that your suffering can’t also exist.”

“He’s right, you know,” Rocket adds. He wrings his hands, “I – ah – I owe you an apology.”

“No, Rocket, you were right,”

“No, I _wasn’t_ ,” Rocket insists. “Aside from the bomb explodin’ in my face, _both_ of our faces actually, I was fine. I yelled at you for being too caught up in your own problems to see ours, but it was the other way around. Obviously none of us were paying attention to yours. And I didn’t mean what I said, a-about you bein’ a bad leader. I mean, I’ve never had one before so there’s no basis for comparison,” Peter lets out a watery laugh at this, “but you been pretty damn good so far. We ain’t dead yet, and you’ve been tryin’ harder than we give you credit for.”

Gamora nods. “He’s right, Peter,” she says. “You’ve been doing way better than any of us could’ve expected, and certainly better than any of us could do ourselves.”

“I am Groot!” Groot squeaks with vigor.

“B-but I almost failed the mission today, I didn’t listen to the plan –”

“So fucking what, we don’t usually even have a plan!” Rocket interjects. “And it all turned out fine in the end, so…”

“Peter,” Gamora interrupts. “What happened today, out during the job, when you froze… did it have to do with your mom?”

Peter stiffens, and then nods. “How’d you know?”

“I… I know a flashback when I see one,” Gamora says. She shifts. “Listen, next time, _please just tell us_. It’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to be sad. But if you try to push through it, you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

“But I–” Peter starts, but his voice breaks again. His face crumples. “I j-just miss her. I miss her so damn much.”

“I know,” Gamora murmurs, “and it’s okay.”

She tightens her embrace. Drax still has his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Rocket and Groot are at his feet, reaching towards his knees. They can’t bring her back, they can’t even really understand what Peter’s feeling, but they can be there for him.

And they are there for him the next few days as he recovers from the concussion. Drax cleans up the sick from his bedroom floor, Gamora makes him amazing soup, Rocket deals with the fucking Kree who sent them on the mission in the first place (“Yeah, _sure_ the army was small, just like the stick up your ass is small!”) and Groot stays in Peter's room in his little pot, a comforting presence.

And as long as they are there, things will be alright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first GOTG fanfic ever (actually my first fanfic period) so any advice is appreciated :)


End file.
